Attraversiamo: On Traveling with Chronic Illness

Attraversiamo. In Italian, it means "cross over."

That's exactly what we did last week. My husband and our two girls and I, we crossed over the country.

We traveled from sea to sea; from the northwest to the southeast. We started  in a region of tall, green trees, rain, and coffee and ended in a region of bugs, humidity, and sweet tea.

This journey far surpasses any I have taken in years. It consisted of two cross-country flights, a rental car, two nights of hotel stays, two weeks of beach house stay, and two days of driving.

Even before chronic illness reared its ugly head, traveling was not my strong suit. I do well with home, with the familiar.

Months ago, when we first began planning this trip, I began trying to change my way of thinking. Instead of thinking of worst case scenarios that could happen while traveling, I began to consciously look forward to specific things -- the beautiful pictures I would take, my girls' excitement to see a new place, getting to know my nieces and nephew, and spending time with my husband's family. I allowed myself some new stickers and papercrafting supplies to document our travels. Instead of feeling stressed, I tried to change that feeling to excitement.

It didn't completely change my normal ways of thinking about travel, but it helped.

In the airport, being pushed in a wheelchair to save my hips and knees, I remembered the reason for this journey. Gorgeous piano music in the airport was playing, "It is Well With My Soul."

In the middle of a long day of travel, somewhere in Nevada, I hit the wall. Going on about 1.5 hours of sleep the night before, I was exhausted, hurting, and still had hours to go before I could find a comfortable chair or a place to lie down. I began to cry and felt myself slipping into my old ways of thinking: I'm not good at traveling, I can't do this, I should've stayed home, I want to go home.

I went in the ladies' room and cried for a few minutes in a stall, and then I dried my eyes and reached way deep within for strength and inspiration. I remembered that I am Brave Enough, and we trekked on.

And we made it. Here I am in the land of bugs and sweet tea; on an island with beautiful warm water.

Here I am, crossed over.
I call it a gift -- the opportunity to do this trip. I call it an adventure. And for myself, I call it brave.

Attraversiamo -- how will you "cross over" your fear?

Shaped for God

From the moment we knew we were expecting our daughters, they were loved. Without knowing who they were or who they would be, an indescribable bond formed. It's incredible to me that God says He's loved us and consecrated us for a special plan since before even an ultrasound could reveal us.

One of my favorite verses on this subject is Jeremiah 1:5, in which God tells Jeremiah that He knew him before he was formed in the womb, and that before Jeremiah was even born, God set him apart to be a prophet.

Jeremiah tells God I'm too young, I don't have the words, I'm scared.... Help!

And God tells Jeremiah he's not too young, and that not only will He go with Jeremiah and give him the words to speak, He will calm Jeremiah's fear. "They will fight against you, but not prevail over you, for I am with you to deliver you" (1:19).

Jeremiah was not the only one God called. Do you know you are called to be His? Do you know you are remarkable? Do you know that out of all the inhabitants of the world, out of billions of people, you are seen and known by God, down to the number of hairs on your head and the number of days your life will span?

You are consecrated. You have been set apart for God's service, declared sacred, dedicated for a purpose. Overwhelming? Sometimes. Terrifying? Sometimes. Equipped by God? Always.

Father's Voice

This evening over dinner I was telling the girls some of my memories of meeting them when they were born. As I reminisced, Hannah's eyes sparkled, and Natalie would say occasionally, "And then what happened?" I told them that the night Hannah was born and the day Natty was born were the most special times of my life.

I told them that when Natalie was born she cried and cried, as if unsure of where she was and feeling scared, until the nurse handed her to me and I held her and said, "It's okay, Natty Kate, Mommy's here." As soon as she heard my voice, she recognized it, and stopped crying.

I was thinking as I tucked Natalie in, how often we feel unsure of where we are and where we're going, and how scary that can be. I began to sing a soft little song to Natalie, smoothing her brown hair, "When you're scared, do you listen for your Father's voice?"

Hannah came in from brushing her teeth and asked, "What are you singing to Natalie?" I told her that I was making up a little song and that how Natalie stopped crying when she heard my voice just after she was born is how we should be when we are scared. We should listen for our Heavenly Father's voice, and not be afraid. She said, "Ohhhh," solemnly as if agreeing, and then said, "I just heard God's voice just now! I heard Him say, 'That's right, Jennifer.'"

I don't know if God really spoke to my 6 year-old tonight or not, but what I love is that she believes. She believes that He is real, that He is near, and that He would choose to speak to her.

Do you believe? When you're scared, do you listen to your Father's voice?

One Spring-like Winter Afternoon at the Playground...

I have two daughters. They are 6 and 3 years old. My younger daughter is afraid of dogs, just as her sister was at this age. One time we went to the playground. The athletic field there is bordered by residential houses and backyards. From behind a fence came a ferocious-sounding bark. Natalie ran to me in fear, even younger than she is now, and as I lifted her into my arms, she asked, wide-eyed, "Is it a dog, or a giraffe?"

Skip forward to today. We were back at the same playground, taking advantage of natural Vitamin D on an astoundingly gorgeous February day. A man and a woman were at the playground with two large dogs. They began to run closer to us so I called for Natalie to come to me, as I knew she would be terrified of the dogs. I again lifted her into my arms and held her close.

Natalie: "Why do they have dogs?"

Me: "They like dogs."

Natalie: Well, I don't."

Me: "I know you don't. But someday you might."

Natalie, breaking into a huge smile: "When I'm a big girl? And I'll say, 'Look, Mommy! A dog's coming! I LOVE DOGS!!'"

It occurred to me that we could all take a lesson from my little 3 year-old. So often we think that fear is permanent; that things that seem unchanging can't be altered. But sometimes, with time and personal growth, fear dissipates into understanding, and then maybe even joy.

Perhaps real courage is being open to change, and to looking fear in the face and asking, "Are you a dog or a giraffe?"

What are you afraid of?